TW: Masturbation, Phone Sex, Smut

"God I miss you," Ross says to Smith with a deflated sigh. It's been three months since they've seen one another. He's been jumping from project to project for work and Smith has been traveling for work as well. It was no one's fault, except maybe the universe, who decided that visits were out of the question and even phone calls more than five minutes were a thing of luxury.

"I miss you too." Smith's heart aches. He's never really understood what people meant by that before now. There's a tightness in the center of his chest making it harder to breathe. A lump rises in his throat. Fuck, he's going to cry. The last thing he wants to do is spend the five free minutes they both have bawling his eyes out.

"Are you still there?"

Smith clears his throat in the way that people do when they try to convince someone they aren't going to cry. "Uh...yeah, sorry. Just thinking."

It's Ross' turn to pause. "You know, I've been thinking too," he finally says. His tone is different, darker.

"About what?"

"How much time do you have?" He asks.

"Well. It's after midnight and 6AM comes earlier than I think it does but I'll stay on as long as you can." Smith glances around the generic hotel room. They all start to look the same when you've stayed in as many as he has these past few months. "I figure you don't have long. I know it's morning where you are."

"It's alright. I'd do anything for you, you know. Even skip my morning coffee."

Smith feigns a gasp. "Who are you? What have you done with my Ross?"

He laughs nervously. "That's not the last time you're going to ask that question tonight."

Smith raises an eyebrow and lays back on the spacious king-sized bed. He hates it when they give him a king suite while he's traveling alone. It's lonely as hell to crawl up into one without someone else to share the space with. "Okay. Seriously, what's going on? You're acting weird."

"I was wondering if you'd like to...ehm...and I mean you can say no. I won't be offended."

"Ross, spit it out." What the hell is going on with him tonight?

"Fine. Fine. Okay." He inhales sharply before continuing, "Would you like to..." he gets quieter, as if he's afraid someone will hear him, "...touch yourself, you know, while I talk to you."

Well, he certainly wasn't expecting that. He feigns another gasp and drops his voice, low and serious, "Ross Hornby. Are you asking me to have phone sex?"

"Oh my God! Don't say it like that. It makes me sound like a twat!"

Even though Smith's laughing at him, even through his embarrassment and the enjoyment Smith's getting from Ross' discomfort, there's a stirring below his waist. It has been three months after all. Three months of missing Ross' comfortable weight on his side of the bed, the smell of his shampoo on the pillow next to Smith's, the heat of his body as he presses against him. Three months of frustrated (and let's be honest, frequent) masturbation.

Ross starts talking again, "No. You're right. It's stupid. Totally bonkers. I should have–"

"Ross," Smith interrupts. "Let's do it."

His breath catches but he recovers quickly and then he's all business. "Put the phone on speaker. Set it down next to you," he instructs. "You're going to need both hands."

Smith inhales sharply, already aroused just listening to him take control. The idea that he's thought about this, imagined this, drives Smith mad with lust. He does as he's told.

"Now, tell me what you're wearing so I can get it off you," Ross says.

"Dark red boxer shorts. Nothing else. It's bloody hot here."

He makes a satisfied "mmm" sound that causes Smith's dick to twitch between his legs. "Your chest is bare, nipples exposed?" Smith hums in the affirmative. "Touch them."

Smith slides his hands over his stomach and up onto his pecs, his palms ghosting over his hardening nipples as a low moan bubbles in his throat.

"Good boy," Ross says, and there's a rasp to his tone that makes things feel naughtier than they actually are. "How good do you feel right now?"

"So good..." Smith moans.

The phone is next to him and he can hear Ross' light panting. It's so close, it's almost like he's there, hot breath caressing Smith's ear, lips moving down to kiss and nip at his neck.

"I want them in my mouth. I'd lick them. Bite them. Pinch them for me, Alex, pretend it's my mouth."

Smith obeys. He focuses on the swollen buds, first rubbing over them before taking them between his fingertips and pinching hard. He gasps and allows another moan.

Ross is breathing heavier. "Take your pants off. I want you to feel how hard you are for me."

Smith leaves one hand at his nipples while the other fights with the tightening boxers to expose his bare thighs and thick cock. "Ross, I'm so hard," he pants. He allows himself to stroke up and down once, his thumb rubbing across his sensitive head, spreading pre-come around. This provokes a whimper, and Smith writhes on the mattress.

"I'm so hard," Ross says through ragged breathing. "I'm stroking myself. Thinking about how tight your little ass is..."

Smith's eyes screw shut and Ross is there in his mind. He's all lean, toned, naked perfection. Smith imagines him tightly gripping his cock, stroking the impressive length, clear liquid pooling at the slit, the head swollen and purple with need, his knuckles turning white with the effort. Up and down. Faster and faster.

Smith's hands moves faster around his length. Heat coils up into his stomach and spreads through his legs all the way down to his feet. It curls around his muscles and makes them tingle. "I'm so close. Ross, fuck me." His voice is a breathless whimper.

"Are you ready for my cock?" Ross growls. Smith's imagination is working over time. His voice sounds so close now, so real.

"Yes. God, yes. I want it." Smith begs, writhing under his own touch. Sensuous stroking turns into furious rubbing. Every stroke sends a jolt of electricity through his limbs. He arches his back, grinding himself into his hand.

"Fuck, you're sexy as hell. I want to be inside you so fucking bad right now," Ross says and it doesn't sound like the phone anymore, it sounds like he's really there, watching Smith touch himself, ready to ravish him at any moment.

"I'm gonna come," Smith gasps, feeling the familiar tension creep over his body. Ross moans long and loud. Even in the haze of his impending orgasm, Smith knows there's no way he could sound so clear over the line. His eyes flutter open and Ross is standing over him, naked, ice blue eyes fixated on Smith's rapidly moving fist, bare chest heaving. He strokes his rigid cock. He catches Smith's gaze and his erection jerks when he sees he's been noticed.

"Don't you dare stop."

But even if he wanted to, Smith couldn't. Seeing Ross there, staring at him with wild eyes like he wants to devour him, that firm grip on his magnificent cock; it's an overload of arousal that has Smith coming within seconds. His back comes up off the bed as his muscles seize up and contract one by one. Smith fights his eyes to stay open, to keep watching Ross, but the strength of his orgasm arises victorious. His lids force shut and a savage cry tears from his throat as cum spurts all over his hand and lower stomach. He falls back to the bed as his pleasure finally crests and then washes over him in waves. Waves of aftershocks rack Smith's heavy limbs and he's still on a high when Ross says, "Fuck. Shit. Jesus. I'm coming." His cock spasms above Smith's body, followed by the warmth of his come all over his upper thighs.

Ross' familiar weight settles on top of him. Smith opens his eyes to find him propped over him, his gaze fixed on Smith. He balances on one arm so he can lift a hand and brush the hair from Smith's face. "Hello, beautiful," he says, softly before kissing Smith's forehead.

When someone you love has been gone and comes back to you for the first time, there's a moment of disbelief. Everything enters a dreamlike state. The lines between fantasy and reality blur in a way that makes your head spin. That first moment is tears and worry and need and hope, a culmination of emotion so complex, so sophisticated that it ties your stomach in nervous knots and closes your throat so the words won't come out. They leave you scared to breath for fear the morning will come too soon and the fleeting moment will pass and you'll be left alone, aching for a dream that was never real.

But touch doesn't lie. Smith lifts his hands and his fingertips explore the contours of his handsome face. His eyes are tired with jetlag. His jaw is rough with yesterday's scruff and his hair is a disheveled mess of black and tiny silver streaks. When he speaks, his breath is warm against Smith's cheek. "I knew you were busy so I let myself in. I hope you don't mind."

It's Ross. He's here. It's not a dream crafted by Smith's overworked, lonely imagination. The moment of uncertainty fades. He's very real. And very naked. He lays down beside Smith. Somehow, Smith finds the strength to roll on his side and lay his head up on his chest. Ross idly strokes his hair as they both catch their breath and wait for their heartbeats to slow.

"Ross, I don't know how to tell you this mate, but I don't think you actually know what phone sex is," Smith teases while snuggling a little closer.

He laughs, his voice thin with fatigue. "Damn, you're right. Well, there's always next time."

Smith shakes his head. "No, that's alright. I prefer your definition."

Ross rolls onto his side and pulls Smith into his strong embrace. "I couldn't stand it. I had to see you."

Smith relaxes into his arms and inhales. He smells of sweat and sex and memories and it's like someone returned the other half of his missing soul. Smith is alive for the first time in months. And at least for tonight the king sized mattress won't feel too big. And tomorrow when he wakes up the scent of his shampoo will be on the pillow next to his and everything will be as it should.

Credit to yogscastemma on Ao3